


In Which A Series of Events Lead To The Rapidly Declining Mental Health of One Alexander Hamilton

by just_a_huge_nerd



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton has Nightmares, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, George Washington is a Dad, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Im unfortunately not lying, M/M, Self-harm kind of, Sick Alexander Hamilton, im so tired, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_huge_nerd/pseuds/just_a_huge_nerd
Summary: I feel like its pretty self explanatory but...Hamilton works too hard and the pepes try to helpI wrote fluff! Im so proud of myself hahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (crying internally)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 8
Kudos: 210





	In Which A Series of Events Lead To The Rapidly Declining Mental Health of One Alexander Hamilton

Hamilton had been sitting in the same position for seven hours. Every inch of his body aches and willed him to move, to stand, to eat, to sleep.

But he stayed stubbornly planted in the wooden chair, determined to power through his discomfort for the benefit of them all.

He couldn’t stop, there was too much work to be done. They were losing the war desperately and he had so much to do- transcribing letters and drafting replies to congress among his many other duties.

Alexander was pulled out of his mind when none other then John Laurens enters the room.

Laurens took one look at Alexander and immediately frowns.

Alexander genuinely did look like death. He had deep, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and he looked like he was dead on his feet.

“Alex, you need to rest. You can do all this tomorrow. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” John’s voice was gentle, coaxing him into a more relaxed state.

Hamilton allowed himself to be helped out of the room and towards the aide de camps room.

Laurens carefully lowered Alex into his cot, and he was unconscious in a number of seconds.

———————————————————  
Hamilton awoke with a start. But instead of being greeted with the harsh wooden chair, he had grown accustomed to, he was lying on a slightly lumpy mattress (a huge improvement nonetheless).

Wait.

What on Earth was he doing in bed? There was so much work to be done!

He dragged himself up, ignoring his body's complaints, and stumbled back to his desk in the adjacent room.

Yet, as the time passed by the young man found it increasingly harder to will his mind to concentrate on the words before him.

Perhaps if he tried something less demanding, such as simply copying letters and transcripts word for word.

Yes, that would do. At least he’d still be getting some work done.

As he reached his slender arms out to retrieve a new sheet of parchment, the sleeve of his undershirt got too close to a candle and caught alight.

Obviously, having not eaten since God knows when and not slept for more than five hours in the last week has an effect on one's reaction time.

By the time Hamilton had come to his senses, at least a quarter of his sleeve had been destroyed, leaving angry red burns in their place.

The pain brought tears to the corners of his eyes. Fuck.

John was going to kill him. He had tried to make him sleep and he had gotten back up anyway.

And now he was injured because of his own stupidity.

“You should have listened to me, Alex.”

“You need to look after yourself more, Hamilton.”

“If you continue risking your own wellbeing for this war you will be discharged Lieutenant-Colonel.”

The voices of John, Lafayette, and Washington echoed in his head.

He put his coat back on, gently pulling the sleeve over his arms.

Nobody needs to know.  
__________________________

Alexander Hamilton felt so awake and was able to complete all his tasks in record time, being grounded by the aching of his arm.

Humans are pre-programmed to have addictive personalities.

He knows this. Easy is the descent. He was treading a slippery slope. 

Yet, there is no way to deny the fact that the pain from the burns on his arm has helped his concentration.

It was now early in the morning, and he expected the other aid de camps to enter the room any minute.

Thankfully, it was a common occurrence for Hamilton to be the first one at work, so no suspicion would be raised when he was found hunched over his desk.

Not a moment later, Laurens, Meade and Grayson entered the room, bringing a cold gust of air with them. Only on cold mornings like these did he miss the topical weather of Nevis.

“Please tell me you have only been sitting here since dawn,” Laurens almost begged, looking at Hamilton with scepticism.

“Yes, indeed. I rise with the sun,” Hamilton lied. He’d probably slept for an hour, maybe two at best, but he was definitely not going to disclose that information to John anytime soon.

John sighed. “Did you at least eat?”

“I had some bread when I woke up.” Was it bad that he was so good at lying? He really wasn’t hungry, and the other men would need food far more than him.

With those (regularly occurring) questions answered they all sat in silence and got their work done.  
___________________________  
There was a knock on the door. It was dark, and he was alone. In all honesty, Alex hadn’t looked up from his work for the first time in hours, so the passage of time did not surprise him.

“Come in,” he croaked out, voice rough from lack of use.

The heavy door swung open, revealing a very resigned looking George Washington.

“Son, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Alexander was honestly so exhausted he didn’t even tell Washington not to call him “son”.

“I’m drafting a response to Congress, your Excellency,” Hamilton replied.

“At four in the morning?”

“It is not lost on me that you are also awake, sir.”

“I, Lieutenant-Colonel, am the commander of this army and have already slept tonight. You, on the other hand, have been stowed away in here for days, pouring over work that you do not have to do. Go to bed, son.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead, sir.”

“That wasn’t a request, Hamilton. It was an order- go rest.” Washington’s tone didn’t leave any room for argument.

The smaller man huffed and stood, giving a shallow bow before walking moodily out of the room.  
_____________________________  
It was dusk. The torrential rains had only become stronger, tilting trees and people alike. The wealthy were not safe in their large sturdy houses, let alone those like him who were curled up under their mattresses in the slums.

Wind whistled through the shack where Alex was hidden, the screams of those who were less fortunate than he echoed in his ears. Cries of help, for anyone to have mercy on them and take them in. But he was paralysed by fear- not daring to move from where he was curled up under the hay mattress in the corner.

It was dark. Rain still slammed against the sad excuse for a hut with a vengeance. Alexander hadn’t moved in hours. Screams and pleas still filled his ears, but he stopped trying to ignore them hours ago.

There was a bang as a particularly strong gust of wind made the roof of the hut fly off, causing the walls to fall in on him.

Yet he still stayed still- paralysed by fear, the screams of the damned filling his senses.

But he didn’t help.

Why didn’t he help?

Why didn’t he do anything?

He could have saved him.

‘Why didn’t you save me?’ the familiar voice asked him.

I don’t know.

‘Why didn’t you save me?’ James’ voice questioned.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sor-

“ALEX!”

Jem? That sounded like-

He shot up in bed, groaning after his head collided with something hard.

“Ouch! What the hell Lexi?”

He knew that voice. It wasn’t James, it was John.

James was dead.

But John was here. He was here, he wasn’t dead.

“John? Are you okay?” His voice was croaky from lack of use and the tears that were pooling in his eyes.

John laughed, the sound and movement reverberating through Alex’s body. “You wake up screaming and still ask me if I’m okay? You’ll be the death of me Alexander.”

Guilt flooded the smaller mans’ chest. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t, my love.” Alex keened at the use of the pet name- a special thing John only did when feeling particularly affectionate. “I was already awake.”

Alexander looked around the room for the first time. There was light streaming through the windows, making John look like an angel as he leant forward on the bed.

“How long was I asleep?” The last thing he remembered before the nightmare was sulking off to bed after Washington banished him from the office.

“About ten hours. It’s two in the afternoon.” John must have seen the expression of terror come over his face and quickly added, “Don’t worry, the General wanted you to rest. You haven’t slept in a week, Lex. You need to take better care of yourself.”

John leant forward from where he was kneeling on the floor, bringing his face closer to Alex’s. He brought his hand up to rest of Alexanders’ cheek, moving his thumb repetitively over his cheekbone.

“I can’t lose you, okay?” He was struggling to keep the emotion from his voice.

Alex put his hand over Johns’, trying to provide some reassurance. But as he did so, he winced- the fabric of his undershirt had gotten stuck in the tender half-healed skin of his forearm. He hissed in pain.

So much for keeping that under wraps.

Immediately, John made Alex turn his face and look him in the eyes. He rambled as he reached for the arm in question-

“Are you hurt Alexander? Why didn’t you tell me! You know it could get infected and-”

He stopped talking abruptly when he saw the pink inflamed flesh.

“Christ, Lex, you’re lucky this isn’t infected. Why in seven hells didn’t you tell me? I could have helped”

John didn’t sound mad, just worried, which made Alex feel all the more guilty.

He looked at the floor, determined not to meet his lovers’ eyes.

“Lex, I’m not mad, okay? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, John, I’m so sorry.”

Laurens tried to comfort the smaller man. “Hey it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not like you did it on purpose, okay?”

Alex just buried his head in Johns’ shoulder, squeezing his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay.

The southerner sucked in a breath, choosing his words carefully. “Baby? Did you do it on purpose?”

Alex shook his head, face still buried in the nape of Johns’ neck. He mumbled something, but his voice was muffled.

“I can’t hear you, baby, I’m sorry. Try again?”

Alex moved his head away from Johns’ neck long enough to say, “It helped”, in a small voice.

He sounded so sad, so broken. John had known that Alex hadn’t been doing well, but not to this extent. Not knowing what to say, John just pulled the smaller man into a tight hug, kissing his tears away.

“If you ever, ever feel like you need to hurt yourself for whatever reason, come and tell me okay? And I’ll look after you and we can deal with it together okay? I love you, baby. So much.”

Alex had melted into the hug, touch starved after going Lord knows how long avoiding John.

“I love you too.”

The sincere moment was disrupted by Alex’s stomach making a low, gurgling sound.

John sighed. “When was the last time you ate?” (Did he even want to know)

“Ummmmm I had bread?”

Oops.

Fin.


End file.
